Faith & Grace
by sammiephillips
Summary: More or less in line with current S10 story line. The boys are based at the MoL bunker and the MoC features. A WIP. Enjoy :)


Chapter One

Dean had hardly finished pulling off the road and putting Baby in park when Sam had thrown open his door and leapt eagerly from his seat. The corner of Dean's mouth turned up in a half-smile as he turned the keys back in the ignition and the engine's purr came to a gentle stop. He glanced up into the rear view and saw a flash of Sam's grin in the dark before he disappeared behind the open trunk. Dean looked upwards as he stepped out of the Impala and eased the door shut behind him. The night sky was crystal clear; an atramentous canvas completely mottled with the twinkles of innumerous stars. He let the sight of it distract him for a moment.

"Dean!" Sam's voice, full of excitement, broke into his thoughts. Dean turned to face him, his half-smile returning at the sight of his little brother, who was awkwardly holding a cardboard box that was bursting with an assortment of fireworks and beaming back right back at him. "C'mon!" And without another second passing, Sam took off running into the field.

"Dude, I'm coming!" Dean hollered after him, chuckling to himself. John was on a job, as usual, and there weren't exactly any local festivities nearby the middle-of-nowhere motel where they were staying. There had been a fairly well-stocked convenience store, however, so fireworks and libations had been acquired. Sammy was still just a kid, only thirteen. Dean wasn't about to miss an opportunity for celebration. He was taking a sip of whiskey from his flask when he caught up with Sam, who was already busily sifting through the selection and sticking the fireworks into the ground.

"Hey, make sure you leave enough space between those, will ya?" Dean lightly kicked the bottom of Sam's shoe.

"Yeah, yeah. I am!" Sam muttered in response, too busy picking out the next sparkler or rocket to pay Dean much attention. Dean watched his brother work in silence, tapping his foot and humming a little Boston to himself while enjoying a sip or two more of his whiskey.

"This is gonna be great," Sam declared and, having finished setting everything up, he stood up and wiped the dirt off the knees of his jeans. "Ready?"

"You can do the honours, Sammy," Dean smiled and handed his kid brother a pack of matches.

"Awesome." Sam dropped back to his knees and took a match in hand. He looked devilishly back at Dean. "Get ready to run!" With that, he struck the match and quickly lit all the tails of all the fireworks he had so precisely placed. Reaching the last one, he scrambled back to his feet and launched himself in Dean's direction. They grabbed at each other's flailing arms as the took off running, both of them laughing and looking back at the sizzling lines. The first of many went off with a loud POP! that echoed into the night's stillness and like ripples in a pond the remaining firecrackers followed suit. The boys stopped to watch as invisible whistles carried the explosive powders up and they began to burst and erupt loudly into an array of bright colours and shimmering lights.

Despite it being the fourth of July, the sun's absence had made the air cool and in his excitement Sam had left his jacket in the Impala's backseat. Dean swung his arm over his brother's shoulders and Sam let himself be tucked in closely. They stood in quiet appreciation of the display before them. Dean was watching the red and gold projections rip across the inky backdrop when very suddenly he started to shake, and his breath caught in his throat. A sharp, stabbing pain screamed suddenly from his right forearm. Against his will he cried out with the pain and, clutching at his arm, dropped to his knees.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam was startled and staggered back as his brother fell.

Dean was crying out, tearing tightly at his arm. Searing, white hot pain was radiating from there across his whole body, which was shaking more and more violently. He could barely hear for the pounding, excruciating sound of his heart in his ears. Or was that Sam's? He struggled to turn his gaze upwards to his brother, who was staring at him with mix of panic and concern. The pain overwhelmed him and he cried out again, this time the sound of his voice seemed warped, coming out like a growl. He fought for his breath as his upper body went stiff. A tightness spread up neck and seemed to choke his eyes, constricting them. Dean felt a rage rising from the pit of stomach and was terrified as he felt like he was slipping away from his body, to the background, out of control.

"Sammy-" He managed to get out, strained. "Run!"

Sam didn't know what to do. He stared at his brother in horror and stumbled back at what he saw. Dean's eyes were consumed by darkness. They had gone completely black. He cried out in shock and fell back a few more steps, fumbling about his pockets and completely at a loss. Dean's head whipped to the side and jerked back unnaturally and he stopped shaking. Eerily calm, he rose to his feet, his demon-black eyes fixed on Sam who, paralyzed, stared back at him aghast. With one hand Dean reached for the knife at his hip. He then held it out so the light from the moon glinted off the blade.

"Hiya, Sammy," Dean uttered in a low, gritty voice unlike his own. "I thought I told you to run." He started to take a step towards Sam and the younger Winchester came back to life. He turned on his heel and bolted in the other direction. Dean smiled viciously before taking off after him. It didn't take long for the elder Winchester to overtake his younger brother. He promptly knocked him to the ground. Sam rolled to his back, and facing Dean, tried to crawl away from him.

"Dean, please, no! What are you doing? You're not you! Dean! No!" Sam was begging him. And Dean was loving it. He pinned his brother beneath him and held the knife up, grinning.

"Night night, Sammy," he breathed. He brought the knife down swiftly and Sam's cries went out into the night.

"Dean. Dean! Wake up, Dean!" He was being forcibly shaken.

Dean snapped awake and, gasping as though he hadn't taken a breath for ages, shot upwards in his bed. He was absolutely drenched in sweat, his chest was tight and the Mark of Cain was throbbing naggingly on his arm. He was panting as he came back to the moment, realizing it had just been a dream. A horrible, terrifying dream. Sam was standing at the side of looking very worried. When Dean looked at him, he flinched, hearing the echo of his brother's flesh tearing in his ears. Dean looked away from Sam. He was sick from the adrenaline, and utterly mortified and ashamed of what had happened in his dream.

"I uh… I could hear you calling out." Sam spoke softly. He wanted to ask if Dean was okay, but he knew that he wasn't. He wanted his brother to tell him about the nightmare but he didn't want to push him. He looked terrible. The sight of him made Sam worry so profoundly it made him physically tense. Dean was white as his sheets and soaked through, trembling where he sat. Dean continued to say nothing. He wouldn't look at Sam.

"Can I get you something, Dean? Do you need anything?" Sam wanted nothing more than to sit at the end of his brother's bed and let him talk it out but could tell that's not how this was going to go. Dean shook his head stiffly as his only answer.

"Please, just… go." Dean managed to croak out weakly. Silence filled the space between them.

"Okay," Sam responded. He was making fists with his hands, his thumbs rolling over his fingers anxiously. "You… know where to find me." Haltingly, he turned and walked out of Dean's room, closing the door behind him. He let out a deep breath and leaned against the wall opposite the door, sliding his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and, shaking his head, languished for a way to help his brother. It was still the dead of night. He knew these dreams were hard on Dean and this was the worst he'd seen yet. It was possible he'd have another before the night was done, if he could ever find sleep again. Sam couldn't bear to leave him, even if he wasn't open to his help. So, Sam, resigned, slid down the cold stone wall of the bunker's hallway and sat on the floor, folding his arms over his knees and resting his head there.

On the other side of the door, Dean had shifted to the other, dryer side of the bed and lay back down. He was massaging the aching Mark and trying desperately to recover control of his breathing. If he closed his eyes the gruesome end of his dream flashed in his mind. He was so worn out and felt as though he was spread so thinly… He wanted nothing more than to succumb to a deep, visionless sleep but was desperate not to have another nightmare. Nothing else he'd been through, even Hell, it seemed, compared to the lack of control, doubt, and fear of himself that he felt then. And Sam… Dean's breath caught in his chest and he wrestled a sob. Sam had so much faith in him and every episode threw him further and further into a place where he felt unworthy. He couldn't bear the thought of letting Sammy down. His hand came to his head and he rubbed his eyes into the heel of his palm. Silent tears had welled up in their corners. Distraught, he tried to keep his eyes open despite his weariness. His tears persisted. It was going to be a tremendously long night.


End file.
